Murders investigation ten months ago. The case was a nightmare, especially for me because of my personal connection to the killer. Tomasetti got me through it. He’s a good cop and an even better friend, and it’s him I think of this morning.
“I’m going to request a CSU to help process the scene.” I pull my cell phone from my pocket. “Maybe they’ll be able to pick up hair or fibers.”
The three cops nod in approval. But I know they’re feeling territorial about this case. The atrocities committed against this Amish family have angered and outraged them. While they appreciate any help, they don’t want some other agency encroaching on their turf.
“Chief Burkholder?”
I glance over to see Doc Coblentz standing next to one of the corpses. He looks grim and shaken, and I acknowledge that there is a small, selfish part of me that doesn’t want to go over there. Some crimes are simply too terrible for the eyes to behold, the mind to comprehend. But the part of me that is a cop knows information is my most powerful tool.
Dropping my cell back in my pocket, I force my legs to take me to him. “What do you have?”
For a moment the doctor stares down at the floor, his expression troubled. And I realize with some surprise this veteran man of medicine is so upset by what he’s seen that he can’t speak.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says after a moment.
I’m aware of my team watching us from the doorway. It’s an uncomfortable moment. I’m not very good at offering comfort. I’m not even very good at receiving it. I give the doc a minute, and then I ask the question that’s been eating at me since I saw the bodies. “Do you know the cause of death?”
My question snaps him back. “I can’t be positive until I get them on the table, but I have a theory.” He glances toward Glock. “Have you photographed and documented everything?”
Glock gives a nod.
The doctor turns his attention back to me. “These two girls suffered long, horrific deaths, Katie. Look at this.”
We move closer to the nearest victim, Mary Plank. She’s about fifteen years old with the slender body of a girl on the brink of womanhood. Not yet an adult, not a child, but that special place in between. She probably still played like a kid. But her adult dreams were just forming in her head. She was pretty, with a kind face. It’s unbearably difficult to look at her and think of how she must have been. Sweet. Innocent. Undamaged by life. I can’t imagine the horrors these girls must have endured. I cannot fathom such brutality.
Gently, he places his hand against the girl’s lower abdomen, between the pubis bone and the navel. With a long, cotton-tipped swab, he indicates the jagged mouth of a hideous wound. Something pink and watery peeking out. Using a wad of gauze, he wipes away some of the blood, and I discern the dark smudge of bruising around the wound.
“The clean lines here indicate the wound was probably made by a knife or some other very sharp instrument,” the doc says.
“She was stabbed in the same area multiple times?” I ask.
“Not stabbed. I believe he opened her abdominal cavity.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head. “Who knows what goes on inside the mind of a man capable of this kind of brutality.”
“Can you tell me what killed her?”
“I can’t be sure until I perform the autopsy, but judging from the amount of blood from this wound, it appears as if this is the fatal wound. She probably bled to death.”
“She was alive when he did this?”
“Her heart was still beating. She may have been unconscious due to shock and blood loss. She could have been drugged, so I’ll run a tox.” He motions to her face. “She isn’t gagged; believe me, she would have screamed.”
I imagine I can hear those screams now. “Why?” is all I can manage.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he was trying to retrieve a bullet,” the doctor suggests.
“Maybe.” But the theory doesn’t ring true. It takes a special kind of cold-blooded to cut open a human body. “Seems like it would have been easier to dispose of the body.”
He heaves the sigh of a heavily burdened man. “I don’t know if it’s significant, but this wound is very close to her uterus.”
A shudder runs the length of my body. Unwanted images scroll through my brain. “I wonder if that’s somehow symbolic.”
“Could be.”
“Or maybe he’s a sadist and hates women.”
The doc shrugs. “That’s your area of expertise, not mine.”
I motion toward the second victim. “What about the other girl?”
The doc moves to the second victim. Annie Plank. She was sixteen years old. Slightly heavier. Not as pretty as her sister. It breaks my heart to see these two young lives cut short.
With the same gentle deference he used with the sibling, the doc sets his gloved hand against her abdomen. The area has been wiped clean, and I spot the stab wounds immediately. These wounds are higher, just below her rib cage.
“She was stabbed. Three times, it looks like. I’m guessing, but I would venture to say at least two of those penetrated the stomach.”
“Same weapon?”
“That would be my guess.” He grimaces. “But I’m not convinced that’s what killed her.”
“What do you mean?”
Reaching up with a gloved hand, he gently rolls back an eyelid. It goes against every primal instinct I possess, but I force myself to look. The eyeball is milky and sticky-looking. The outside corner is bloodred. My perspective is not clinical, but one of outrage, sadness and disbelief that something this unspeakable could happen in my town, a place where people should be safe. I can feel my emotions knocking at the gate. My heart beating in my face. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, but I’m cold to the bone.
“The red area on the conjunctival surface is called petechial hemorrhages,” the doctor explains.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard that term. “She was strangled?”
He shakes his head. “There are no visible ligature marks on her neck. No bruising.” He indicates a thin white line just to the right of her mouth, across her nose and on her left cheek. “I’m guessing here, Kate, but I would say this is some type of adhesive.”
“They taped her mouth?”
“And nose, evidently.”
“They smothered her?”
“I can’t say that definitively at this point, but asphyxiation would be my best guess.”
“They tied her up. They stabbed her multiple times. And then smothered her to death.” The words are so twisted, so ugly, it hurts me to say them. All too easily, I can put myself in this young woman’s place. I can imagine her terror and panic with a clarity that scares me. All I can think is,
“Did you get a temp, Doc?” I ask.
“I did.” To prevent biohazard contamination of his notebook, he snaps off a glove and tugs the small pad from an inside pocket. “Ninety-four point six degrees.”
I do the math. “These two girls were the last to die.”
“An hour, maybe two, after he killed the people inside the house.” He sighs. “It’s possible the younger girl may have lingered a while, Kate. Particularly if the COD is exsanguination. She would have fallen unconscious.” He shrugs.
I try to look at this through the eyes of a killer, but the perspective makes me feel dirty and guilty and
